


kings are cowards

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heroes come in all forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kings are cowards

His fingers trace the outline of her curves while his lips ghost along her neck and she sighs, her eyelids fluttering shut momentarily.  
  
"Run away with me, Rose," he whispers and she can feel him watching her.

She opens her eyes and stares up at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance in the candlelight.

"You know I can't do that, John," she replies softly, her gaze still on the flickering motion above her head.

The straw in the mattress crunches as he shifts and his face fills her view, soft brown eyes pleading with her.

"I love you," he says and she smiles at him, raises a hand to touch his cheek.

"I love you, too," she replies, "but we can never be together. Not in the way we want to. Our relationship can never exist beyond encoded love letters and secret rendezvous." She sighs again and runs her fingers through his hair. "If my father found out, he'd have you arrested. Probably killed."

"That's why we run away," he says earnestly. "We can go anywhere. They'd never find us."

"My father would find us. Trust me."

He sighs and moves to lie beside her. Their hands meet between them, their fingers intertwining, and they're silent for a moment.

"I'm a doctor, shouldn't that be good enough?" he says, his voice frustrated.

"It is for me, but you know my father. Nothing short of nobility."

"He doesn't care about what you want," John says quietly, "he never has."

"Because what I want doesn't matter. It's all about politics. He has to make the best political match he can."

Rose turns her head to look at him and his eyes meet hers. He brings his free hand up to brush her hair behind her ear and lightly stroke her cheek with his thumb.

"My father is notoriously choosy," Rose murmurs. "You and I have time yet."

 

 

"Prince Michael has agreed to marry you," Rose's father says at dinner the following night. Rose almost chokes on her swallow of wine and sets her goblet down quickly.

"What?" is all she can muster, too shocked to really speak just yet.

"It's a very advantageous match," he says, glancing over at her.

"But you hate his father!" Rose exclaims.

"This is not about emotions, child, it is about politics. Your marriage to Prince Michael will forge a strong alliance between us and our enemy and we can become vastly more formidable."

Rose looks desperately at her mother, who determinedly avoids her gaze, and then back at her father. She opens her mouth to protest again and her father holds up his hand, giving her a dangerous look.

"There will be no discussion on the matter."

Rose stares at her plate, which is rapidly becoming blurred by her tears, and realizes her appetite is completely gone. She stands and starts for the door.

"Oh, and Rose," her father calls after her, "I've had your doctor arrested. He'll no longer have you as his whore."

Rose hurries from the room, stopping in the doorway of her bedroom and bracing herself against the jamb, struggling to breathe through the tightness in her chest. She never expected this to happen so quickly or for her father to ever find out about her affair with John and she feels lost now, as though she's floating in an ocean without a paddle and no sense of direction.

She sits numbly on the edge of her bed, feeling the tears coursing down her cheeks and making no move to wipe them away.

Her mother enters the room a short time later and Rose stands.

"Mother, you have to talk to him," she says frantically, "make him change his mind."

Jacqueline shakes her head, looking sadly at Rose. "You know I can't make him do that. Nobody and nothing can."

"How did he find out about John?" Rose asks, lowering her voice. "Did you tell him?"

"Of course not!" Jacqueline says and her tone is so stung that Rose believes her. "I don't know how he found out, sweetheart, but you'll be better off if you forget him now."

"I can't just forget him, Mother, I love him. Didn't you love Papa?"

"I did, and then he up and died on us and then James came along. He took us in and cared for us and you'd do well to remember that."

Of course Rose remembers it. Her real father died when Rose was six years old, and James had come along not long after, sweeping her mother off her feet and marrying her before Rose's father had been in the ground a year. He was kind to Rose, had seemed like a loving father until she kicked him out of her bed when she was thirteen. Ever since then he seemed to regard her as only a burden.

"Forget him, Rose," her mother says now, her tone firm. "He's as good as dead."

Her mother sweeps from the room and Rose falls back on her bed, covering her eyes with one shaking hand and trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

 

 

She lays awake in bed that night, staring out the window at the moon, full and bright in the sky. Her eyes are tired from crying but she couldn't sleep now even if she wanted to. She thinks of John in his tiny cell down at the jail and she would cry again if she had any more tears to shed.

Her fingers grip her bed sheets and a moment later she sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. The stone floor is cold against her bare feet but she barely notices as she steps into a pair of John's boots that she brought back from his house one night and grabs her overcoat. She moves to the door and cracks it open as quietly as she can, peering out into the corridor. She is unsurprised to see the guards outside her door, and she pushes it shut again, waiting a moment before crossing the room and pushing aside a tapestry to reveal the secret door that she is certain no one beyond herself knows about.

Rose makes her way down through the secret passageway, pausing every so often to listen for footsteps. She makes it safely to the end of the passageway and steps out into the courtyard, closing the door tightly and carefully behind her. She stops again to listen and watch for anyone approaching and then hurries to the woods, intending to use as much cover as she can to get to the jail.

She reaches the small building and pulls open the door, slipping inside and startling the man nodding off in the chair in the corner.

"Rose!" he says, wide awake now and looking at her as though she's crazy. "If your father finds out you're here-"

"He won't find out, Jack," Rose says pointedly, giving him a level stare.

"Well, of course not, but... Rose. You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should he," Rose replies and Jack is silent. "I know you care for me, Jack, probably more than you ought to. You're one of the few who have remained loyal to me, even after my father turned on me."

"There are more than a few," Jack says softly.

Rose stares at him a moment. "Help me. You know this is wrong, and you know what will happen to him if he remains here. If you ever loved me, Jack Harkness, then _help me_."

Jack looks down at her a moment, his blue eyes troubled, and then sighs, removing the keys from his belt and handing them to Rose.

"Thank you," she says sincerely. "You would make a good king someday."

"Kings are cowards. I'd much rather be on the battle frontlines than on a throne."

Rose places her hand on Jack's shoulder and stands on her toes, kissing his cheek softly.

"Thank you," she whispers again. "I won't forget this."

Even in the dim light she can see his face redden as he clears his throat and steps back.

"You'd better hurry if you're going to get him out of here."

Rose hurries to the cell Jack points out to her and places the key in the lock, pulling open the door.

"John?" she says softly, peering inside. He rises almost immediately and comes to her, pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm so sorry."

She pulls back and takes his face in her hands, her heart breaking at his black eye and the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip. He smiles at her, wincing almost at the same time, and she brushes his hair back, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I knew you'd come," he says and she smiles at him, pressing her lips very softly to his.

She turns to Jack and can see the sadness in his eyes before he looks away.

"You two better get going," he says gruffly and pulls a knife from his belt, pressing it into Rose's hand. "Just in case."

She looks down at it and then slips it into the pocket of her coat.

"What will you say when they find out he's gone?"

"Oh, somebody must've hit me, stolen my keys and let him out. Never saw who it was." His smile is easy but Rose can tell he's afraid.

"You're a good man, Jack," John says, extending his hand for Jack to shake.

"You just take care of her, all right? That's all I want from you."

John nods and Rose smiles, pulling Jack into a fierce hug and kissing his cheek once again.

"Take care of yourself," she whispers.

Jack holds her tightly, giving her a squeeze just before letting her go.

"Go on, now, before we all get caught."

Rose and John hurry from the jail, sprinting hand-in-hand into the cover of the woods. They crouch low to the ground for a moment, catching their breath before Rose tells him to get to his house if he can and pack up whatever he needs, then wait for her in the woods. He nods and places his hand on the back of her neck, pulling her to him for a searing kiss, the meaning of which is clear to both of them, though neither of them will say it out loud.

They stand and part ways, Rose heading back to the castle and John to his house.

Rose reaches the door to the secret passageway and hurries up to her room, wanting to be as quick as she can. She throws two of her lighter, more worn dresses into a bag, along with a pair of plain but sturdy shoes. She grabs a small pouch full of gold coins, which clink musically when she tosses the pouch into her bag on top of her clothes. The last thing she grabs is the necklace on her dressing table, owned by her grandmother before she gave it to Rose's father, who gave it to Rose on her sixth birthday, just months before he died.

She takes precious time to fasten the necklace around her neck and write her mother a short note before grabbing her bag and starting toward the passageway door. Just as she moves the tapestry aside the door to her bedroom bursts open, banging back against the wall. Rose cries out, her heart jumping into her throat as she turns to look at the door, her fears confirmed as her father steps into the room.

The surprise on his face would be comical if Rose wasn't so scared and she wastes no more time standing around. She yanks open the door and starts down the stairs, not bothering with pulling the door shut.

"You sneaky bitch!" her father bellows. She hears his footsteps grow nearer and knows that he can easily close the gap between them, that he is bigger and stronger than she is, but she is faster.

She quickens her pace, leaping the stairs two and three at a time with the practice of many years before bursting out into the courtyard and sprinting as fast as she can towards the woods.

Despite her speed, his longer legs quickly bridge the gap between them and he grabs her, pulling her to the ground. She falls hard, the breath whooshing from her lungs and tears filling her eyes as she struggles to breathe.

He flips her onto her back and grips her arms tightly, his legs on either side of her hips, pinning her to the ground.

"You will not disgrace me any more than you already have," he hisses, his face inches from her own.

"How have I disgraced you?" Rose retorts. "By not allowing you into my bed when I was thirteen?"

He slaps her hard across the face but Rose ignores the pain, taking the opportunity while she has one arm free to push him back as hard as she can. He is stunned for only a moment but it is all the time she needs to bring her other hand up and push him back again, wriggling from underneath him. He grabs for her but her legs are free enough to place one foot on his chest and shove him back. She turns and tries to push herself up but the grass is slick with dew and her hands slip as he grabs her around the waist, pulling her down yet again.

She dips her hand into her pocket and grabs the knife Jack gave her, slicing her palm on the blade but not caring as she pulls it out and swings it at her father. It connects with his face and he screams, his hand flying to his cheek. Rose is stunned, having never heard anyone make that sound before.

Blood pours down his face, oozing through his fingers, and his eyes are wild as he looks at Rose. She pushes herself to her feet, the knife held out in front of her, and takes a few steps back.

"I'm leaving," she says, taking a steadying breath, "and you'll not stop me. Your men will not come after me, and do you know why? Because more of them are loyal to me than they are to you. Your country hates you and your reign with come to an end sooner than you think."

"My reign will end only when I die," her father snarls.

"Exactly," Rose says simply and is satisfied to see the meaning of this dawn in his eyes.

She bends to pick up her bag and backs up a few more steps, still keeping the knife in front of her, until she feels it is safe to turn and dash into the woods.

John is waiting for her and she lets go of herself for a moment as she clings to him, trembling in his arms and breathing hard as her heartbeat slowly returns to normal. He wants to look at her hand right then and there, but she tells him to wait, tells him they need to start moving and get as far away as they can.

"Why?" he asks, confused. "I heard what you said about the men and it's true, none of them will come after you."

"Some of them are still loyal to my father," Rose says, her face serious, "and I'm not going to lose you again."

They walk until the sky begins to lighten and they stop a moment, watching the horizon turn pink and then orange.

Rose sighs, leaning her head against John's arm. A smile slowly spreads over her face as she realizes that despite the dried blood on her palm and the dull pain in her cheek, despite how filthy she is and how tired she feels, she's never been happier in her life.

John's lips are light on the top of her head and he reaches down to take her uninjured hand as they continue down the road, towards the sunrise and towards their new life together.


End file.
